


Acquiescence

by valda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Denial of Feelings, Excessive Drinking, Fluff, Hair, Humor, Invasion of Privacy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 15:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8290699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valda/pseuds/valda
Summary: A silly story from three perspectives about two idiots and their long-suffering friend and colleague.





	

“And _another_  thing,” Armitage slurred, slapping his palm against the bar top. “His _hair_.”

“His hair?” Phasma cocked her helmeted head to one side.

“His _haaaaaaair_ ,” Armitage confirmed, rolling the side of his head back against the meat of his bicep so he could see her better from his position slumped over the bar. Phasma wasn’t sure his eyes were focusing quite on her. “It’s. Ridiculous.” Armitage sniffed, dragged his tumbler closer, reached for the bottle. It wobbled precariously as his unsteady, grasping fingers banged into it. After four tries, he gave up.

Phasma benevolently poured for him. “Why is his hair important?”

“It’s not _regulation_ ,” Armitage practically shouted, rolling the R as if he was giving one of his speeches.

“No one ever sees it anyway,” Phasma pointed out. “I never have.”

“That’s no _excuse_.” Armitage managed to get his glass to his lips without spilling _all_  the brandy. “He should wear his hair in a manner befitting the First Order. Not all those—waves. And curls. And shiny.”

“Arms,” Phasma said, unable to keep the smirk out of her own voice, “have you seen your own hair?”

“What _about_ my hair? It’s perfectly slicked every day, not a single hair out of place—”

“It’s hardly regulation, and you know it.”

“What—it—I—”

“Arms, at _most_  your hair should be two inches long on top, and shorter on the sides. How long is it really?”

Armitage scowled at her. “That hardly matters, my hair is _neat_  and _tidy_ , not an unruly _bird’s nest_ —”

“That Ren keeps hidden beneath a helmet at all times,” Phasma said. “He certainly doesn’t show a poor example to the troops or officers.”

“How _dare_  you insinuate that I show a bad example!” Armitage banged his fist on the bar. “It’s _Ren_  who’s the bad example, _Ren_  who brings disorder to our ranks, _Ren_  who has all that—that _hair_ , all dark and sleek and _huge_ , you could lose your whole hand in there—”

“So you’ve imagined running your fingers through Kylo Ren’s hair, then?”

Armitage’s cheeks went as red as his nose. “No—yes—only to imagine _yanking_  on it,” he spluttered.

“Oho,” Phasma said. “I think we’re coming around to your _real_  problem, Arms.”

Armitage shoved himself up from his stool, stumbled back three steps, flung his body weight forward, and caught himself gracelessly on the bar. “You always do this,” he hissed. “Stop it. I do not have _feelings_  for Kylo Ren.”

“That’s debatable,” Phasma grinned, “but it’s _obvious_  you want to fuck him.”

“Phas,” Armitage growled, “if I didn’t have so much respect for you as a soldier I would put you out an airlock right now.”

“Sure you would.” Phasma clapped Armitage on the back. “I believe everything you say.” She gave him a once-over; he looked ready to collapse. “You done here then?”

“No,” Armitage said stubbornly. Phasma shrugged, stepped forward, and threw the general over her shoulder. “ _Phasma_ ,” he screeched.

“It’s time to go to sleep now,” Phasma told him. “Time to dream about Ren’s hair.”

“I will not _dream_  about Ren’s _hair_ ,” Armitage shouted, and Phasma supposed she should show him a bit of mercy. After all, it wouldn’t do for his subordinates to hear him going on like this.

“We’re leaving the O-club now, Arms,” she informed him. “I’ll put you down at the door and you’ll walk. And I imagine you’ll want to shut up until we get to your quarters.”

“Wait,” Armitage said, sounding suddenly panicked, “is anyone else in here?”

“No, you reserved the club for yourself. It was just us.”

“Thank the Empire,” Armitage breathed. “What if someone got the wrong idea?”

Phasma let Armitage’s dead weight slip from her shoulder to the floor, propping him up with an arm around his middle. “The wrong idea, mm hmm. Come on, then.”

“Can you _imagine_ ,” Armitage said, “someone hearing me talk about Ren’s _flowing black hair_?”

“It would be a travesty, yes,” Phasma agreed, “so you might want to be quiet now, Arms.”

~

His headache was so splitting that he rather wanted to find an axe and finish the job himself.

“Ugh,” Armitage groaned, leaning heavily against the sink in his ’fresher and staring blearily at his blotchy face. “Ugh,” he said again, and then he splashed himself with water, drank as much as he thought he could stomach.

“Kill me,” Armitage said into his empty quarters, staggering from the ’fresher to his desk. “Just get it over with.” He sat down more heavily than he’d intended to, the motion summoning painful sparks to dance behind his eyelids. “Ow.”

For a long moment he simply sat, eyes closed, willing the pain to subside. When it did not, he let out a long sigh and resigned himself to a torturous morning. He’d work a few hours here, take a proper shower before heading to the bridge.

Armitage opened his eyes and reached for his datapad.

His fingers froze above its surface.

Sitting at the center of the pad was a curled lock of shiny black hair, tied with black string. Hesitantly, he raised it closer to his eyes, squinting at it.

“What in the actual fuck,” he said.

He was in too much pain for this.

Dropping the hair, Armitage slid his datapad across the desk and activated it. Instead of his usual preferences, the note-taking screen loaded. A few lines of text awaited him there.

_I had no idea you found my hair so entrancing, General. Now you may look at it whenever you like._

Armitage blinked at the message, blinked again, then blinked a third time for good measure. It was still there. There was still a message from Kylo Ren on his datapad. There was still a lock of hair on his desk.

There was a lock of Kylo Ren’s hair on Armitage’s desk.

Kylo Ren had cut a lock of his own hair and given it to him.

Armitage stared at it, absently stroked it. Now he could _touch_  it whenever he liked, as well. And it was just as soft and smooth as he’d imagined.

He’d imagined stroking Kylo Ren’s hair.

What was _happening_?

His head throbbed. What had the message said, again? _I had no idea…_  But somehow now Ren  _did_  have the idea. Why? How?

Armitage ground his thumbs into his temples. Blast it, he could think straight if only he hadn’t had so much to drink last night—

He froze.

Last night. Drinking. Phasma. He’d been saying—and then he—

“No,” Armitage whispered, “no, no, _no_ ,” and he dropped his head painfully into his hands, because Ren had _heard_  him, he’d heard _everything_ , and now he thought Armitage _wanted_  him, and he’d left behind a scathingly mocking memento.

Armitage could never face Ren, or anyone else, ever again. He would have to live out the rest of his days here in his quarters.

He closed his eyes again, drew a long breath. No. Armitage Hux was not a coward. He had handled worse things in his life than an intolerable man knowing he wanted him—

Thinking. _Thinking_  he wanted him.

It would be fine. Armitage would be fine. He would not acknowledge Ren’s little “gift.”

No. Even better, he would _thank_  him for it. That would prove just how little effect Ren had on him.

Armitage stood resolutely and marched himself into the ’fresher.

~

Hux’s face was blank, but his mind was not. The general’s feelings were a maelstrom that Kylo couldn’t tease out without actually intruding on his thoughts. He’d found the gift, of that much Kylo was sure. But what was his reaction?

It was perplexing, knowing that the general was fixated on Kylo’s hair. That he’d thought of touching it, of running his fingers through it, of _pulling_  it. That the general wanted something more from Kylo than simple cooperation, something other than his power. Even if that something was as simple and strange as access to his hair.

Kylo reached up self-consciously as he strode down the platform onto the bridge proper. His fingers bumped his helmet.

“Good morning, General,” he said, shoving his hand back down to his side. “Did you receive my—”

“Ren,” Hux clipped, turning towards him. A small spot of color appeared high on each of his elegant cheekbones. “Yes, I did. Thank you for the gesture.”

Kylo felt his tense shoulders relax a bit. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“Although I would prefer you use the standard channels for communication,” Hux went on.

Kylo cocked his head to the side, as Hux couldn’t see his confused frown. “Even for—a gift such as that?”

The pink spread to Hux’s cheeks. He glanced around, down to the recessed workstations, back to Kylo. “Well,” he said, quieter, “I suppose not.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Do you make it a habit of entering my quarters?”

“I—” Kylo was momentarily taken aback. “No. That was the second time.”

“The _second_ ,” Hux said, his voice a hiss. “And what was the first, then? And why did I not know?”

“I go where I want,” Kylo said, still confused. “I always go where I want.”

“You can’t just enter someone’s private quarters whenever you like,” Hux said, and he was openly glaring now. “Why were you there?”

“You. It. I.” Kylo blinked rapidly. He wasn’t sure what was happening; he felt as though his back was pressed against the wall of an active trash compactor. Around them, officers were starting to pay attention; if not with their eyes, certainly with their ears. “General,” he said firmly, “come with me,” and he grasped Hux’s wrist and towed him off the bridge.

Hux squawked the entire distance from the bridge to the nearest conference room. “What the hell, Ren,” he seethed as Kylo activated the door, sliding it shut and securing it.

“The first time,” Kylo said, “you had fallen asleep on the bridge, and Captain Phasma was not available to carry you to bed.”

“ _What_ ,” Hux said.

“Lt. Mitaka indicated that it had never happened before,” Kylo said. “It was during the testing phase of Starkiller’s containment field. You’d been awake for four days straight.”

“That…” Hux blinked at him, then looked away. “Well, then…thank you? Again. For that.” His hands were fists at his sides.

Kylo cocked his head to the side again. “You’re not weak,” he said.

“I _know_  I’m not weak—”

“No one _thinks_  you’re weak.”

Hux’s fists tightened. “No one?” he gritted.

Kylo reached up to the releases on his mask; it dropped with a hiss and he pulled his helmet away. “No one,” he said, shaking out his hair and tucking the helmet under his arm.

Hux stared at him for a long moment.

“You’re irritating,” Kylo clarified. “You get in my way. You’re not weak, though.”

Hux kept staring, as if Kylo had broken his brain.

Finally it dawned on him. “Oh,” Kylo said. “Would you. Like to. Er. Touch it?”

Eyes locked on Kylo’s, Hux stepped forward, closing the short distance between them. Kylo was acutely aware of the locked door just at his back. The general tugged off his own right glove, reached up with his bare hand. There was something in his face, a twitch, a flutter. Kylo waited for Hux’s fingers to slide back through his hair.

They did not. Instead, Hux laid his hand alongside Kylo’s face, thumb brushing along his cheek.

Startled, Kylo bumped back against the door.

“Do you know?” Hux said quietly.

“Know?” Kylo swallowed. “That you…like my hair?”

Hux’s face was very close now, so that when he chuckled, the warmth of his breath hit Kylo’s lips. “You bloody pillock,” he said, and kissed him.

Kissed. Kylo was being kissed.

Kylo’s lips were being parted by Hux’s tongue.

Kylo’s lower lip was between Hux’s teeth.

Hux was sighing, and murmuring nonsense, and Kylo was backed up against the door, and the warmth of Hux’s body was pressed tightly against him.

Hux’s mind was roiling with excitement, and pleasure, and, for the first time in Kylo’s presence, fear.

At that, Kylo gripped Hux’s shoulders firmly, pulled him closer, and kissed him back.

It was some time before they broke apart, gazing at each other, gasping for breath. Hux ducked his head, eyes curtained behind golden lashes. “It’s—” he panted, “—rather more—than your _hair_.”

A swell of tingling warmth swept through Kylo, propelled him forward, arms sliding tightly around Hux, fingers clutching at his back. “You…want me,” he huffed against Hux’s mouth, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Hux laughed softly, smirking a bit. “I’m starting to wonder,” he said, wrapping his arms around Kylo’s neck, “if you and I were the only ones who didn’t know.”

“ _Yes_ ,” came Phasma’s voice, suddenly and loudly from the other side of the door. “General. Your commlink is on.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was really proud of the title of this. The title may in fact be too good for the fic. (I'm on [Tumblr](http://cosleia.tumblr.com), by the way.)


End file.
